


Wilde

by iwillsithereandtrytocontribute



Series: You All Speak Latin in My Dreams [6]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Spoilers for Rome Arc (Rusty Quill Gaming), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Wilde needs to go to sleep sometimes, and 178 really hit hard so i needed to write this :')
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27886792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillsithereandtrytocontribute/pseuds/iwillsithereandtrytocontribute
Summary: There are days when I slip off into the garden and just try to remember.
Relationships: Sasha Racket & Oscar Wilde
Series: You All Speak Latin in My Dreams [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000185
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Wilde

**Author's Note:**

> This is it folks!!! The final installation of this series! A huge thanks to the people who commented and gave kudos, you're the reason I was able to finish this!
> 
> Wilde really needs to rest doesn't he? (He's fine, he's FINE. Stop asking).

Knife of you to read this. I hoped you liked that one, it’s got knives in it! Which, I mean. I suppose you know I like them (I’ve got far more than 14 now). Cicero gets me a new one every year, finds them when he goes to the city nearest us. I’ve got more puns, but I’ll save them for another time. I’ve been thinking some up for a while. Something to pass the time I guess, when I get lonely. Well, lonely isn’t the right word exactly. I haven’t been alone in a while. There are days when I slip off into the garden and just try to remember. Some days it’s difficult and that scares me more than anything I’ve seen in a long time. I’m terrified of losing the way Brock laughed or Azu’s smile. I can never forget Hamid’s wide eyes when Zolf first threatened to drown someone in a bucket. I have to remember your face, the way it looked when everything was falling apart and yet you held your ground. I can’t forget, I won’t.

_“Barely unreadable through the lines of ink drawn through.”_ That was

Sorry about that. My writing got away from me and I don’t have the heart to start again. Cicero will get on me for wasting paper. We never really have enough to spare anymore, what with the kids using it for lessons and all. I’m proud of them. If you could meet them 

_ “More scratched out lines, this time so thoroughly nothing beneath can be read.” _

I tell them about you sometimes. Little Wilde just like you when we first met. Stubborn as all hell and always getting herself into trouble. I never really got a chance to say goodbye. You went back to Damascus and we stayed and got whisked away to Rome. I’m not sure anything I could say could make it better, but Wilde, I  _ know _ you weren’t fine. Whatever you say, you weren’t and if there’s anything I’ve learned through this, it’s that that’s okay. 

You  _ need _ to talk to Hamid and Azu if they made it out. You need to take a break once in a while. And that’s alright. I’ll be seeing you Wilde, in a way anyhow. Take care of yourself.

Whosaskinus “Sasha” Lolomg

Wilde set the letter down on his pseudo-desk, next to the others. This was one of the first she had written, it’s edges frail and yellowed from centuries of slow decay. Sasha’s writing was the same he remembered from the contract she’d signed when L.O.L.O.M.G. was still The London Rangers (We’re Still Working on the Name), scratched hastily as if she never had enough time to say what needed to be said. Writing that had slants and curves that he’d already become so familiar with. Wilde put stock in his ability to tell the character of a person through their writing, and Sasha’s said so much even 2,000 years and a bit gone. 

Only once Cel had left him alone in his office had he even thought of looking through the letters Sasha had sent him. It had seemed  _ wrong _ somehow, that she would even think of writing to someone she’d met two months ago and hadn’t even liked. Although… perhaps he was wrong in his assessment of her.

Maybe he could… get his work done. Gods knows it never ended. Fixing one problem after another seemed to have been his life for as long as he could remember, but as much as he’d like to take a break and reminisce over events from over a year ago, the problem at hand wasn’t an easy fix. It wasn’t an “I’ll stay up a couple of long nights, work some magic (sometimes literally), and move on” kind of problem, and he owed it to Sasha, to Grizzop to do everything he could to fix it. 

He wouldn’t rest, couldn’t rest until he fixed this problem too. No matter what Sasha had said, he was fine. There was no other way to be. Not when this many people were counting on him, not when the weight of the world seemed to fall upon his shoulders in a way it never had before. 

He turned over one of the papers piled on the table in front of him and began to write. He resolutely did  _ not _ notice the tears running down his cheek or the shaking of his hand as his clear, looping script became barely legible. 

He has a job to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this. I can't wait to write more for this incredible podcast. You can talk to me directly on Tumblr @iwillsithereandtrytocontribute.


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